


mending

by eleyezeeaye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Incognito Elf 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22047436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleyezeeaye/pseuds/eleyezeeaye
Summary: Harry finds healing in his relationship with Ginny.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	1. I. lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GryffindorHealer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GryffindorHealer/gifts).



> Written for the Official Harry and Ginny Discord Incognito Elf Challenge 2019.

Harry stabbed at the sausages on his plate and tried to tune out the click-click-click of Hermione’s knitting needles. Ron was doing a decent job of drowning her out by complaining loudly to a drowsy Neville about the amount of Potions homework they’d collected so far in the term. Usually the hubbub of the Great Hall was comforting to Harry, but today he could do nothing but think about the evil hag that was Umbridge. She’d sentenced him to detention for the forseeable future, meaning he would have to miss quidditch practices and potentially matches. 

Before Harry had even gotten out of bed that morning, he had the pleasure of hearing Seamus mouth off to Dean about how Harry was ruining Gryffindor’s chances at the Cup with his “bollocks conspiracy theories.” At that, Harry shot out of bed and narrowly missed Seamus’ jaw thanks to Ron’s quick intervention. The interaction did nothing for Harry’s poor mood-- after all, if the blokes he lived with for the last four years didn’t believe him, who would?

“POTTER!” A familiar voice carried through the hall, and Harry dropped his head, supposing that the news of his impending detentions had spread to the girls’ dormitories as well. Ron elbowed Harry in the side. “Mate, if you’re going to make a break for it, I’d do it now. Angelina looks absolutely murderous.” Harry shook his head and sighed, knowing that this conversation was going to happen one way or another. 

Unfortunately for Harry, Angelina considered it less of a conversation and more of a chance to practice a clever imitation of a howler. The tall sixth year threw every insult in the book at him. Before Professor McGonagall escorted Angelina to the other end of the Gryffindor table, she gave Harry a look of contempt that somehow bothered him even more than the profanities that had just been hurled his way. 

As soon as Angelina and Professor McGonagall were far enough away and the Great Hall had returned to its usual rumble, Harry made a beeline for the door. He wasn’t really sure where he was going, but anywhere would be preferable to the Gryffindor table where it seemed like everyone’s eyes were on him. With his head ducked and his pace quickening, Harry turned the corner into the corridor and nearly ran right into Ginny. 

“Oi, Harry! Watch where you’re going!” They both came to a sudden halt as she exclaimed this, but it wasn't until Harry stopped moving that he realized he was out of breath from moving so quickly.

“I’m… I’m sorry Ginny,” he panted. He dragged his hand through his hair and pushed it off of his forehead, which was now beaded with sweat. A slow smile curled on her lips as her eyes raked over him.

“Bad breakfast?” she asked, her smile growing wider. 

Harry shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “No, just trying to avoid the wrath of Angelina.” 

“Ah,” she responded. She shifted the books in her arms to her hip. “I heard you were sentenced to a long life of detention with The Toad without parole.” 

“Hah, so you’ve heard too, then?” Harry said, bracing for another lecture. “Go ahead, tell me how stupid I am.” 

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “If anything, I’m glad you’re off the team for now. Might mean there’s some room for new blood.” She smiled and punched Harry lightly on the arm. 

“I’m not quite off the team,” he clarified. “Why, do you have a suggestion to replace me as seeker?”

“I might,” she said, “but I think it might be in poor taste to discuss it with you when you’re in such a vulnerable state.” 

Harry laughed. He wasn't sure where this jovial version of Ginny came from, but he greatly preferred it over the Ginny he'd known before. She’d been awkward and shy, never willing to engage with him aside from the occasional ‘hello.’ It put him at ease to know there was at least one person that wasn’t upset with him and actually believed him. Even Ron and Hermione had expressed their own frustrations with his actions; Ron said that they would “never find a seeker to replace him!” and Hermione expressed her concern that he was sacrificing his entire house’s wellbeing to assuage his own anger. Harry had to admit they were both a little right. 

Ginny shifted her weight, still looking at Harry. “I’ve got to be going before they pack it all in. I’ve got an herbology exam today and I’m not sure I can handle it on an empty stomach.” 

Harry offered a weak parting wave and moved to walk past her. 

“Oh, and Harry? Try not to get too angry,” Ginny added, “It makes your scar look like it’s going to pop!” She gestured to her own forehead. Harry shook his head in good humor and allowed his fringe to fall down towards his eyes. 

“Better?” he asked. Ginny cocked her head and reached out to ruffle his fringe a bit, smoothing it over his right eye. 

“There,” she pronounced, “now you could walk onto Platform 9-¾ and no one would even recognize you!” Ginny giggled and headed off before shouting, “See you later!” from over her shoulder. 

Harry watched her walk away, feeling more relaxed than he had all morning.


	2. II. lies

Another dreary day, Harry thought as he woke. Rain dripped down the window beside his bed. He looked out at the grounds below, a study in shades of grey. It was a Saturday, which was usually a day best used to bask in the sunshine on the school grounds and procrastinate on the revising and homework for the week. Unfortunately, the frigid sheets of rain wouldn’t allow for any outdoor frivolity.

Pulling his trousers and shoes on, Harry felt his stomach rumble. He was sure he’d missed breakfast after lingering in bed long after his dorm mates left, but hoped he wouldn’t be missing lunch as well. Harry opened the drawer of his bedside table and removed the Marauder’s Map. After revealing its information, he found that most of the students were in the Great Hall -- including Ginny. He folded the map quickly and shoved it into his back pocket. Stopping in the mirror before leaving, Harry tried to wrangle his hair to look somewhat presentable. After a few failed attempts at smoothing it, he shrugged into the mirror and headed out of Gryffindor Tower. 

Harry entered the Great Hall to find a spread of soups and sandwiches. He quickly surveyed the tables, trying to find someone specific without it being terribly obvious. Luckily, he quickly spotted the long red hair fairly quickly and made a beeline for a gap across from her at the Gryffindor table next to Ron. He was greeted by a mere grunt by Ron, but was delighted by a quick glance and smile from Ginny as she listened to a fourth year lament her poor performance in Professor Trelawney’s class. 

“It’s just not fair, there’s not even a way to study… she says I don’t have ‘the sight!’” the raven-haired girl whined. 

Ginny stood and leaned across the table, snatching Harry’s glasses from his face. She placed them on her own and threw her scarf around her neck in a dramatic fashion. Ginny then grabbed Harry’s hand and began to study it intensely. Harry felt his face grow warm as she held his hand in hers. He still wasn’t quite used to someone touching him so willingly -- or voluntarily. He glanced around the table, but even through his blurred vision, it seemed that no one else found it quite as interesting (thrilling?) as he did. 

“Ohhhh,” Ginny cooed. “Tsk, tsk. Such a shame… it says here you’re a terrible seeker and a git to boot.” She closed her eyes and raised her face to the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. “I sense that you have FIVE fingers! And....” she sniffed the air, “...you smell like rotting flobberworms!” 

The Gryffindor table erupted in laughter. Ginny’s impressions of Hogwarts professors were always hilarious and spot-on. It was during these demonstrations Harry found her to be so similar to her twin brothers. 

Ginny continued her reading by turning Harry’s hand over. Her thumb stroked over the raised words there, pale in contrast to his tanned skin. For a moment, he expected it might hurt, but instead he found it nice to simply feel her touch. Her eyes snapped up to meet Harry’s. Her Trelawney impression faltered and she gently squeezed his hand before turning it over.

Tracing a line below Harry’s pinky, Ginny appeared to be surprised. “My child,” she said, her tone growing shaky and high-pitched, “I fear what I have to say next is very very grim. It… it seems…” she paused and placed a hand over her heart. 

“It seems you’re already dead!” she squealed. She threw her head forward, covering her face with her hands while she pretended to weep. A growing crowd of students hooted and cheered as Ginny stood to take a bow for her excellent performance. She sat back down and gave Harry a smug smile. 

“I didn’t know you had Trelawney in your arsenal of impressions,” he said, leaning towards her with his elbows on the table. 

Ginny flipped her long, shiny hair behind her shoulder and batted her eyelashes. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Harry.” 

“Like how I didn’t know you thought I was a shite seeker?” Harry asked, barely holding back his grin. 

“I would never!” Ginny replied, her hand on her chest and her brows furrowed. “Your palm, however…” she shrugged. 

The past few weeks had been sprinkled with little moments like this. In Harry’s opinion, being with Ginny was less about the less-than-savory moments they’d enjoyed under the invisibility cloak, and more about the easy companionship they shared. Not that he wasn’t completely thrilled with the experimenting they’d been doing. She had been so patient and kind with him when it came to intimacy, and it turned out that Ginny was quite good at pleasing Harry. He’d taken it upon himself to use every opportunity to repay her skill and kindness.

However great those activities were with Ginny, Harry felt that his greatest affection for her was borne out of the mundane. There had been late night common room discussions (and re-enactments) of quidditch strategies, walks to class, and some healthy ribbing at bed-headed breakfasts. Average moments with Ginny were some of Harry’s favorites. 

For everyone else in the wizarding world, Harry was special because he was “The Boy Who Lived.” His name and reputation preceded him in the magical world, making even the most boring everyday tasks so much more difficult. 

But for Ginny, Harry was special for just being Harry. She constantly reminded him that he was enough, that no amount of fame or fortune mattered. Harry once pointed out the irony that she felt this way, considering how starstruck she’d been when they first met. Instead of a witty retort, Ginny told him he’d been the first guy to treat her like Ginny, not ‘Ron’s little sister’ or ‘the girl with a nasty bat bogey.’ It was then Harry realized that their affection for one another was so similar; in a world that told them their place, they allowed each other a space to just be Harry and Ginny. 

Harry and Ginny took time finishing their lunch in spirited conversation as the students around them left the tables. When the food was cleared and Ron decided there was no longer a reason to linger, they were left alone at the Gryffindor table. 

“So,” Ginny began, twisting her hair around her fingers, “you wouldn’t happen to have your invisibility cloak with you?” she spoke in a hushed tone, leaned across the table towards Harry. 

Harry patted the pocket of his flannel button up on the breast pocket. “Never leave home without it. Why do you ask?” he grinned, his mind wandering to several secluded corners of the castle. 

“No reason,” she grinned back. “Perhaps you could check your… parchment and meet me outside of the girl’s loo in…” she checked her watch. “Five minutes?” 

Harry’s face grew warm and red. “Of… of course I can.” 

Ginny stood at once, flashed a wide grin Harry’s way, and winked. Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it five minutes after all.


	3. III. fangs

It’s too bloody hot. 

Harry glanced around the Burrow, a blur of woolen jumpers as far as the eye could see. There seemed to be more people here now than were at Bill and Fleur’s wedding (though he knew this to be impossible in the wake of a war), and Molly had seen to it that each one of them had their own personalized garment. She’d even recruited Hermione to enchant her own set of needles to aid in the process. 

Ron had hypothesized -- in private, mind -- that inviting guests for the holidays was Molly’s attempt to fill the void left by Fred, and Hermione’s participation was to distract her from the fact that she still hadn’t found her parents in Australia. 

“It’s good the two of them are doing it together,” Ron said once. “That way when they get all weepy, they have someone to sympathize with.” Ron had tried his very best to comfort both his mother and girlfriend, but no amount of kisses on tear-stained cheeks erase the pain of loss. 

Despite having an express invitation to the Weasley gathering, Harry felt like both an interloper and the cause of the haze of grief that had settled over the Burrow. He found it ironic that he couldn’t sympathize with them -- after all, hadn’t he suffered the most loss of the lot?

Not that it’s a competition, Harry thought. The difference in his suffering and the others’ was that he was used to it. Detachment seemed safer than the vulnerability that opened him up to loss. Unfortunately, detachment wasn't easy while sitting in the lounge, surrounded by what seemed like half the county.

“Cider?” 

The voice startled Harry out of his gloomy preoccupation. He turned his head to see Ginny beside his ear, holding two steaming mugs. Harry smiled and reached for the one closest to him. Ginny walked around the couch and plopped onto the seat next to him. 

“Do you mind a little company?” she asked. 

You’re the only one I don’t want to avoid. “Of course not.” Harry inched over, giving Ginny more room on the two-seater. He smelled the liquid in the cup. 

“Is this another of Charlie’s concoctions or…” Harry inquired. 

Ginny laughed. “No, I took care to make these myself. I’m fairly sure I used the last of the firewhiskey… assuming Charlie isn’t hoarding more of that Romanian shite he’s been pressing on us.” She took a sip from her mug, closing her eyes as she swallowed. 

Harry followed suit and felt the familiar bite and afterburn of the firewhiskey slide down his throat. Across the room, a group of Weasleys and Delacours were playing a rowdy game of exploding snap. Opposite of the main group was a hiccuping George. It seemed the majority of the room had either chosen to drink to enjoy the holiday, the rest to forget it. 

Harry preferred to just exist. 

Bedside him, Ginny pulled a book from under her arm, Winning Witches: The Advantages of Women in Quidditch. She opened the book to her marker and began reading intently. Harry watched her for a moment before setting his cup down on the stained old coffee table before him. He focused on the fireplace, the magical flames making the room boiling hot. 

Sure feels a lot different than last year, Harry thought. For one, he wasn’t dating Ginny at the time. He’d done the ‘noble thing’ and broken up with her -- a decision he somewhat regretted until the moment they’d agreed to give it another go. 

Secondly -- and perhaps most obviously -- he had been on the run. Just he and Hermione. They’d hit a dead end in hunting for horcruxes, and worst of all, they didn’t have Ron to inject his encouragement (and cooking) into their dynamic. Weeks of stale silence and Harry pretending to not hear Hermione cry at night finally led them to decide to visit Godric’s Hollow. 

Which brought him to the third difference. This time last year, he’d foolishly suggested they visit his old home; a suggestion that nearly got him and Hermione killed -- and led to a broken wand. All because of his own stubbornness and curiosity. Harry watched the flames flicker before him, considering just how different this all felt. 

“Is your arm alright?” Ginny asked. She lay with head propped on the arm of the loveseat and her knees bent, peering over the top of her book. Harry wondered how he missed her change in positioning. 

“What?” He asked, unsure that he’d heard her correctly. 

“Your arm,” she nodded in his direction. “You’ve been rubbing it all this time. Mum probably has a potion that would help.” 

Harry looked down to find he had been gripping his left forearm. Two circular scars glistened in the glow of the fire. Unsure of whether it was the firewhiskey or the easy company, Harry began to speak. 

“This year is so different,” he said. 

Ginny laid the book flat on her chest. “Yeah, it really is.” 

Harry took another large gulp from his mug and watched the sediment swirl to the bottom. “But somehow I still feel the same. Like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder.”

“I know how that feels,” Ginny said. Harry turned to meet her gaze. “Well, I don’t know exactly how you feel. We’re here pretending everything is the same…” she looked around the room. “...when everything has changed.” Her voice broke a bit. Ginny cleared her throat and blinked rapidly.

Harry considered that. He was constantly running from ghosts -- while Ginny and her family were constantly wishing for theirs back. Just like no amount of security or reassurance could convince Harry he was safe, no amount of surrogate family or alcohol could make Fred reappear. 

Harry looked at the scars on his forearm once more. They aren’t going anywhere. This is the new normal. “I guess we just have to get used to how things are now,” he shrugged. 

Ginny sat up so that her knees were against her chest. “Yeah, I think we do.” 

Harry leaned towards her slowly. The fire reflected in her eyes, brimming with tears. As he got closer, he could feel her breath, see her lips part. With no regard for where he was or who might see, he kissed her. They took their time, the chaos of the world around them falling away to make room for the future. For the first time in a long time, Harry felt hope, comfort, and love. 

After several long moments - or it might have been half an hour - or possibly several firelit nights - they broke apart. Harry dimly heard the hoots of Ginny’s brothers, but he was too concentrated on Ginny’s eyes to pay them any mind. Ginny touched her forehead to Harry’s and they shared a laugh before she lay down again and continued reading. 

Red-faced and thoroughly aware of the effect of their public display, Harry chanced a glance towards the kitchen. Molly was washing dishes with Percy’s help, Arthur was showing the Delacours a muggle Walkman he’d procured from a local thrift shop, and it appeared that Charlie was regaling the rest of the crowd with a story about his dragons. Harry was glad to see everything continuing on normally for the most part, but in the corner, Harry saw George; he sat holding a flask, the faintest smile playing on his face. George raised his flask in Harry’s direction, and Harry reciprocated. 

Looking back at Ginny, Harry placed a hand on her knee. She smiled without taking her eyes from the page, shoving her feet under his leg. He gave her room to push them further so that the could share his radiating warmth. However, this warmth was not from overheating, or the kind that spread through his abdomen like firewhiskey. Instead, it was like a thick layer of ice was thawing over his very soul, willing him to feel something again.


	4. locket

This was easily the best view Harry had ever seen. 

Ginny’s hair fell in long curtains around his face. Her eyes were closed, mouth open as she panted through the remainder of her orgasm. Harry lightened the pressure his fingertips had been digging into the hips that straddled his own, unaware of how sweaty his hands had become. How everything had become. 

Ginny’s mouth slowly curved into a satisfied smile -- as if Harry needed another reason to be smitten. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed down at him, her eyes adjusting to the light after being glued shut in pure pleasure. 

“Hi,” she breathed, head tilting. “What are you smiling about?” 

Harry had a goofy grin plastered to his face in half ecstasy, half amusement. “I’m just in a great place right now, that’s all.” Ginny raised an eyebrow playfully and wiggled her hips with a giggle. “Is that so?” she mused. She leaned down to kiss him languidly; they agreed with every movement of their lips and tongues that they would prefer this moment not to end. 

Ginny soon began to trail delicate kisses over Harry’s cheeks, chin, and neck. She slid off of him carefully and tucked herself into his side, spreading her hand over his heaving chest. Harry reached for his wand and cast a wordless spell over them before pulling Ginny further into his embrace. 

Harry watched as Ginny’s head bobbed slowly on his chest, her hair reflecting the bits of sunlight that spilled through a crack in the bedroom curtains. He was filled with a sense of incredible love, contentment, comfort… and disbelief at where he found himself. Harry’s thoughts swirled with these strange but welcome emotions until he couldn’t help himself. 

“Thank you,” Harry breathed. He regretted his honest declaration almost immediately as Ginny pulled her warmth away to look at him. 

“Thank you?” she said, pressing her hand into his chest as leverage. “You make me sound like some kind of hag-for-hire!” Harry saw anger on her face.  _ Great, now you’ve done it. Everything was perfect and you had to open your sorry arse mouth and say something stupid… _

“Harry?” Ginny was smiling at him now. “I’m just kidding, but you really don’t have to thank me, you know.” 

Ginny threw her hair back behind her shoulder and settled her head once again on Harry’s chest. Her hand relaxed and she drew nonsense shapes over his sternum. “After all, I enjoyed it too…” 

Harry chuckled. 

“Although,” Ginny added, “lying here like this might be my  _ favorite  _ part.” Her hand stilled over his heart. “Sometimes I can’t believe that I’m lying here, feeling… and  _ hearing  _ your heart actually beat.” Her words gained an increasing softness as she spoke. 

No stranger to the feeling, Harry nodded. “You don’t even know the half of it.” As he said it, he realized that it was quite literally true, but opened a can of worms he wasn’t sure he was ready for. 

Ever since the ‘end’ of the war, Harry had hidden the minute details of Voldemort’s defeat from those closest to him. The irony, of course, was that these details were anything but minute.

How was he supposed to share with Ron how he escaped death once again — when his own brother hadn’t survived? Was it supposed to be comforting to Teddy that his parents died defending Harry so that he could seek out a piece of Voldemort? Would Ginny ever understand why he couldn’t be with her that year on the run?

So much of Harry’s success and survival rested on the pain and suffering of others. Sure, he’d weighed that pain with the potential damage had Voldemort not been killed, but that did little to assuage his guilt. 

Had he been quicker, asked more questions, taken more precautions… the list was endless. It was a constant stream that haunted him in wake and sleep. And somehow, despite all the love, family, and community he’d found, he could talk about none of it. 

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by the feeling of Ginny’s fingertips grazing the oval scar on his chest. She traced its raised edges with a tenderness unbefitting for the evil which caused it. 

“Then tell me,” Ginny whispered. 

It wasn’t such a simple act, telling someone what had happened. After all, Hermione and Ron saw most of it first hand, but they avoided conversation about their time on the run as if avoiding the subject would mean it never happened. Harry had told Ginny bits and pieces, but never really the whole truth.

She knew of the scars on his arm from Nagini — but not that the snake had also inhabited a corpse. He told her about Ron leaving and returning to him and Hermione — but not what he had considered the final straw. He told her how hungry, scared, and alone they felt — but never that he’d considered he might be better off dead by his own hand than seeing his loved ones fall in his stead.

But this moment was different. He supposed there was something to be said for the nakedness in which they found themselves. Perhaps he was feeling more vulnerable than usual due to their state of undress, but how could he also explain his comfort in that vulnerability?

Harry found himself speaking before he was able to question it further. 

“I was never supposed to live,” he admitted. Ginny’s ministrations paused for a moment, but began once more when Harry continued. 

“I think Dumbledore knew it the whole time,” he said. It felt strange to hear himself say it out loud; he’d spent so much time thinking about Dumbledore’s intentions and his own naivety, but he’d never voiced it to another person. 

It had always seemed to Harry that his connection to Voldemort’s mind never came as a surprise to Dumbledore — almost as if the link was confirmation of a suspicion rather than another piece to a complex puzzle. As if he  _ expected  _ Harry to be a horcrux. That he  _ knew  _ he would have to die. 

“When Voldemort tried to kill me — the first time, mind — I had the protection of my mother.” Harry felt Ginny tense at the mention of Voldemort. He gave her waist a comforting squeeze. “Dumbledore said it was her love and sacrifice that saved me. His curse rebounded and managed to… I dunno, finish off his body?” 

Ginny hummed an affirmation. “But I guess that isn’t all of it, is it?” She tilted her head up to look at him. 

_ No, it isn’t.  _

“You remember the diary?” He asked, realizing too late…

“ _ Of course  _ I remember the diary.” 

Her tone was clipped and acrid, and Harry couldn’t blame her. 

“There was a bit of Voldemort inside, a piece of his soul. The one you…” Harry left off, realizing she might not be prepared to talk about her own experience just yet. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he offered. 

“No,” she said weakly, “I want to understand.” 

Harry cleared a lump in his throat and continued. “When he made the diary, he put a piece of himself in it. It was supposed to make him immortal.” He felt Ginny’s head nod. 

“He  _ did _ always talk about that. About how he was going to conquer death. At the time, I think I just thought he wanted to be one of those ancient old wizards like Dumbledore.” 

“You were mostly right,” Harry confirmed. “But when I destroyed the diary, I destroyed that part of his soul.”

Harry reached up to touch the scar on his chest, grazing Ginny’s fingertips. “But that wasn’t the only one.” Ginny laced her small fingers between his. 

“This” -- he squeezed her hand -- “was one. A locket. Hermione had to tear it off me. Made us think terrible things…” He trailed off, remembering the days in which he wore the locket and had convinced himself that he’d gotten Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys killed. 

Paralyzing tightness seized Harry’s chest. He felt like he might scream, cry, or just stop breathing. Or somehow all three.

“How… how many were there?” Ginny asked. 

“Seven,” Harry breathed. “He killed someone to make every one of them. Including my mother.” 

There was a beat, and Harry felt Ginny stretch and place a soft kiss on his cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. 

They lay in a thick silence for a few moments. Harry felt Ginny’s warm breath in the crook of his neck. He found himself mimicking her every inhale and exhale; he desperately wanted this discomfort to dissipate. 

Harry worked himself up to speaking once more. “ _ I  _ was the piece of his soul he didn’t mean to make. That night I went to the forest… I intended to die to kill that part of him.” 

Ginny squeezed his hand tighter. She nuzzled into his neck, leaving a damp spot of tears on his chest. 

“Ginny,” Harry began, lifting himself to sit. “I want you to know something.” Ginny sniffed and looked up at him with damp eyes. She pulled herself up to face him, and draped the sheet across both of them. 

Harry looked into her eyes. They had become more golden than usual, perhaps due to her tears. Ginny grasped both of his hands and held them between hers.

“I was so scared,” Harry confessed. “I kept thinking about everyone I was leaving behind, everything I still hadn’t experienced and seen, all the things I missed out on…” He looked down at their joined hands. 

“I thought about you. You were the last thing on my mind. I loved you. I just hoped that you’d see me for my intentions… you always have.” 

“I loved… love you too, Harry.” Tears were streaming down Ginny’s face. The declaration had been their first, but somehow felt so routine, so organic, so  _ right  _ to Harry. The weight in his chest faded, and it felt like he’d taken a deep breath of Scottish mountain air… and flowers…  _ and Ginny.  _

Harry reached his hands out to hold her face, wiping her tears away as he did. He pulled Ginny’s face to his and kissed her, every fiber of his being electrified. 

This was completion. 

This was perfection. 

“I love you,” Harry reiterated, kissing her once more. “I won’t leave you again, as long as you’ll have me.” 

Ginny rested her hands on his and giggled --  _ actually giggled.  _ “You better not,” she said. “Because I think I’ll keep you around for a while.”


End file.
